


It Comes Falling On Me

by micehell



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, TOKIO
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Tell me I'm a good boy</i>.</p><p>(not really a warning, per se, but there's an angsty and sort of kinky reason behind the smut, so not a particularly happy-ish story, either)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Comes Falling On Me

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read as the 'time in Kyoto' part of _The Flavor of Waiting_ if you wanted it to.
> 
> Title is from a translation of _Hikari no Machi_ , chosen more for the fact that the title of the song matched something in the story than any kind of related theme.

It's late when they stumble together out of the bar. City lights wink like fireflies against the dark gray of a night sky that never goes completely black, too many fireflies drowning out all but the brightest stars. The dichotomy that is Kyoto is visible even in the not-quite-darkness; the hulking silhouette of a modern city wrapped in an ancient cloak of spires and curves, mismatched and beautiful.

"Beautiful," Nagase says to him, slurring the word against his neck as he licks along it.

"Drunk," Joshima replies, knowing he needs to put a stop to this before the kid takes it too far. It's late and it's as dark as it gets, and no one's likely to be looking for them behind the bar like this, but it's still out in the open and Nagase is still his very male bandmate and only a couple of weeks from being eight years younger than him again.

"I want," is the answer he gets, and Joshima understands, because he wants too. Broad hands, pretty lips, and too much bourbon feel good against his skin, hot where Nagase touches him, cold in his wake, and Joshima's dick is certainly making its opinion known. The bourbon in him (the slut that it always brings to the surface) says, _If it feels good, why fight it?_

"Behave," and Joshima's not sure which of them he's talking to, his hips canting up seemingly on their own when Nagase pushes up against him. It would be so easy to let this happen, and maybe it wouldn't mean anything, maybe it wouldn't _ruin_ anything, but Joshima's well aware of the sliver of reserve Nagase's never lost around him, the polite deference that hides in his verbs even when he pokes at his Leader, happy and amused.

Nagase doesn't answer this time, going still against him, only the sound of harsh breathing and the faint tinge of beer and sex in the air between them.

It's confusing, as it always is when Nagase slips off his straightforward path, the twists and complications that thread between the booming laugh and mostly obvious thoughts so much harder for the others to read since they so rarely show. Joshima could wish that he hadn't had that last shot, or rather that Gussan and Taichi hadn't been slipping the kid beers all evening long, part 'happy 19th birthday' and part 'it was a good show' combined, because this would be so much easier if at least one of them were sober.

As if confusing Joshima is his goal in life, Nagase holds on tighter, breath quick and catching as he leans his head against Joshima's shoulder. When he finally breaks the silence, it's a whisper, barely there and filled with tears even though Nagase's face is dry against his shirt. "Tell me I'm a good boy."

Joshima isn't sure what he would have replied if he wasn't at a loss. But he is lost, and he can't think of what to say, saved from awkward silence only by Nagase sinking to his knees, large hands tracing down Joshima's body, long fingers cupping the part of him that isn't confused at all, _want, want, want_ the only thing it knows right then.

Nagase keeps his head down, harsh breath blowing hot across Joshima's pants, against the dick that twitched to get more, but he looks up through his lashes, through the long fall of his hair. If it were intentional, artifice, it still would be sexy as hell, those thick lashes, those beautiful eyes; darker in the not-quite-darkness, bright with the fireflies. But there isn't any intent in them, just need and pain that's brighter than the fireflies and darker than the night.

"Tell me I'm a good boy," and Nagase's mouth is on him, tonguing Joshima through his pants, past any objections he might have.

And Joshima should have objections, he knows it, not the least of which should be that they're both drunk, judgment nowhere to be found. But this isn't about a friendly grope anymore, something that isn't really worth the risk of getting caught, as much fun as it would be. Not when it's obvious the trigger was _behave_ , not when it's obvious that it's the voice of authority that's driving Nagase on, nearly begging Joshima to validate him even as he finally works Joshima's dick out of his pants, works it down his throat, fighting his own gag reflex in a desperate need to please.

Joshima should stop it, he knows it. The unpracticed blow job is almost painful as Nagase doesn't quite keep all his teeth covered, as he sometimes nearly chokes just trying to take in Joshima's nowhere near porn star dick, but Joshima won't stop him. Instead he leans back against the wall behind him, softly combs through the hair of the man before him, and remembers what it was like to grow up thinking you'd done something wrong. Remembers wanting a strong hand on his head, wanting to hear love and pride in a voice deeper than his mother's, wanting what all his friends seemed to have and take for granted. He even remembers the strange looks he got when what he'd been missing got tangled up with what he _needed_ , the desire to be held crossing with the desire to be owned until he couldn't tell one from the other anymore.

"You're a good boy," is wrong of him to say as he spills down Nagase's throat, his whole body flushed with orgasm and trembling in the aftershocks as Nagase licks his lips clean.

"You're my good boy," is wrong of him to chant over and over, faster and faster to the rhythm Nagase sets as he fucks Joshima hard against the wall, only spit and desire easing the way.

The fireflies dance in Joshima's eyes as he comes a second time, the hulking building solid behind him, Nagase softer in him, his face pressed back into Joshima's shirt, damp this time with sweat and sorrow. It's wrong, it's wrong, three times wrong, but Joshima doesn't care when it feels this good. And if "I'll always be here" is what Nagase needs to hear, well, it's a promise that Joshima (unlike his own father, unlike Nagase's) knows how to keep.

/story


End file.
